


The Little Things

by sunglasses



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Jean Kirstein/Eren Yeager-centric, Multi, i am way too late with this aren't i ohoho, this is basically 5k of the word vomit and jean appreciation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 17:31:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4754996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunglasses/pseuds/sunglasses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It must be the kick in the nuts, Connie thinks faintly to himself as he goes back to rolling around in pain. The kick in the nuts must be giving him weird thoughts. </p><p>Or, that one fic that no one asked for in which the 104th realizes they're all somewhat attracted to Jean, and learn how to cope with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Little Things

Connie has been embarrassed countless times in his life. 

There was that time when Sasha pulled down his pants in front of everyone, at the 104th’s first official meal together in the mess hall. (Sasha still claims it was an accident, but Connie cannot for the life of him figure out how you can accidentally run up to someone, yank their pants off of them and run away chortling in delight.) 

There was also an incident in which he got a bit too close with Reiner during their hand-to-hand combat training, and Reiner had assumed he was trying to get into his pants. 

The list goes on and on, but Connie is pretty sure this one takes the cake.

He reasons that he kind of had it coming. The whole 104th Prank War spiel had been his idea, after all. It had been his excuse to terrorize the barracks with a bit of mischief, but he hadn’t anticipated the determination of the other contenders. 

Take Eren and Marco’s team, Team Hot Stuff, as an example. 

They dyed his fucking horse. 

Pink.

Connie had thought it was an elaborate joke, when he had first heard the rumor.

Unfortunately, Connie can confirm that it is definitely not a joke.

He’s standing, frozen, in the middle of the stables, mouth agape and eyebrows skyrocketed towards his hairline, as he stares into the stall before him. 

Connie has absolutely no clue how Eren and Marco got their grubby little hands on the dye, let alone how they snuck it into the stables and splashed it all over his poor, unsuspecting horse without anyone noticing, but lo and behold, they actually pulled it off. 

His horse, Jeremy (yes, his horse has a name), is sitting there, looking incredibly at peace with the world, the entirety of his body doused in pink. Connie is going to murder those two. 

There’s a scrap of paper carefully balanced on Jeremy’s back, stark white against the obnoxiously bright pink. Connie scurries over to it, squinting a little to make out the messy scrawl.

Haha, the note reads. We got u. Luv, Team Hot Stuff. 

He groans, crumpling the note up and stuffing it in his jacket. Those bastards. 

He turns to Jeremy, who stares back at him with big brown eyes. Connie notes, despairingly, that Jeremy doesn’t seem to mind being a beacon of hideous pink in the earthy color of the stables around them. 

Jeremy is a traitor. Connie will have to fend for himself in this vicious war, sans any help from Jeremy. (Not that Jeremy can do much, except stand there and look pretty in that awful shade of pink.) 

He stomps out of the stables, fuming. 

(The next day, the 104th embark on another training expedition, a little exercise to emphasize the importance of endurance, and self-restraint to not speed ahead. Corporal Levi’s idea of endurance training and self-restraint is a 40-kilometer horse ride around already-scouted forests. 

Connie’s idea of endurance and self-restraint is a 40-kilometer horse ride whilst refraining from punching Eren in the nose every time someone asks him why the fuck his horse is pink.)

\---

A couple days have passed since the Horse Incident, and Connie is still pissed. He’s slinking around the stables again, this time hoping to get a bit of inspiration for his next move against Team Hot Stuff (what were they smoking when they came up with that ridiculous name, honestly), when he spots Jean.

Jean is still in his uniform, even though training finished an hour ago. He’s leaned up against the gate separating the walkway and the stalls, holding out a wooden bucket to his horse, who nudges her nose into it eagerly. It’s a bit early to be feeding the horses, but he doesn’t seem to care. 

Jean has, unfortunately, refused to take sides in the little prank-off, following Mikasa's example with devoted loyalty.

However, because Connie is one man short on his team, and Jean’s desperation to get into Mikasa’s pants evens out with Connie’s desperation to win this war, he’s going to have to try and recruit this fucker. 

So he waltzes up to Jean and slings an arm around his neck. 

Jean flinches at the sudden contact, but relaxes when he realizes it’s just Connie. 

“Connie. What.” 

“Jeannnn, my old friend. My best bud. My brother from another mother. My-“

Jean grimaces, cutting Connie off with a flap of his hands. “Cut the shit, dude. What do you want?”

“A favor, possibly. I can repay you though, if you carry through with this,” Connie pleads, clasping his hands in front of him dramatically. 

The dramatic gestures don’t seem to be doing much for anyone, because Jean just stands there, unconvinced, arms crossed. Both of his eyebrows are raised skeptically, and his face is contorted weirdly, probably trying to copy Levi’s judge-y face. 

Connie thinks he looks more like a sad raccoon with squinty eyes. 

“Look dude, I’ll narrow it down for you,” he tries again. “I help you hook up with Mikasa, if you join – “

Jean’s face turns bright red and he clamps a hand over Connie’s mouth, shushing him. "Shut up, shut up, shut up, if she hears this we’re both dead, idiot,” he hisses.

He looks around the stables nervously, as if Mikasa will jump out of a horse or something. 

Connie would not be surprised if she could pull it off. 

"Jean, just listen. I can totally hook you two up, if you join my team for -"

Jean rolls his eyes again, and drags his hands down his face, pulling at his lower eyelids. "If this is about your stupid prank war, then no." He turns his back to Connie in a huff, a Jean gesture that roughly translates into Fuck You And Get Out.

Connie rolls his eyes and turns to leave, but not before noticing the unsettlingly pretty pink still dusting Jean's (unfairly) prominent cheekbones.

Wait. What?

Jean. Attractive?

Connie shakes his head, dismissing the fleeting thought. What a funny joke, he thinks to himself, as he walks away.

\---

Ymir hasn't seen Krista at all today. Somehow, Hanji discovered that Krista has quick, clever fingers that have a knack for sewing (of course, they also have uh. Many other talents.), and is currently slaving her away to help stitch the new Titan Labels.

The labels are designed to stick to titan flesh, in an effort to track a handful of them as they make their way to wherever titans go. This means, on top of kidnapping Krista, Hanji has convinced Eren to do his freaky titan-transforming thing, and has also snatched up a good half of the 104th to carry out a test run. 

Unfortunately, Ymir had not been picked as one of Hanji’s minions, so she is currently stuck moping around the barracks, alone and incredibly bored. That is, until she spots Connie and Jean. 

Guys are weird, Ymir understands that much. However, she doesn’t really get what Connie finds amusing about ripping Jean’s shirt off and sprinting away with it through the empty hallways, holding it up above him like some kind of victory flag. She also isn’t sure why Jean is chasing him, his face beet red and an arm self-consciously wrapped around his torso. Don’t guys love the freedom of strutting around shirtless? 

He’s letting loose a lengthy, extremely colorful stream of curses, and even Ymir is impressed. She nods at him in respect as he flies by her, but then her smirk quickly fades when she sees them. 

His abs. 

Ymir blinks, wondering if she somehow managed to get brain damage in the last five minutes, before taking another peek. 

Nope, she was not hallucinating. Jean’s abs are still there. 

And goddammit. 

That is the beautiful six-pack that Ymir has ever seen. (She considers that quite a feat, since she has seen an alarmingly large amount naked people in her life.) (Way too many, actually, in her opinion.)

She had never really considered Jean as the type to have super amazing abs, for some reason. It might be because he usually isn’t in sight when the rest of them do the weight training that Corporal Levi smacks down on them. It might also be because he can barely swallow down a bowl of stew before declaring himself full.

Apparently, though, she thinks to herself as she stands face to face with the abs in question, her assumption of Jean being a skinny twig was totally wrong.

Her eyes travel up from where they had been staring at his (gorgeous) abs to his face, which is still red as all hell. She observes quietly as he catches up to Connie and tackles him to the ground. 

“Fucking – holy shit you absolute mother fucker – just give me the damn shirt you son of a – oh my god CONNIE.”

Connie flings his limbs in all directions, still cackling, and star fishes out right in the middle of the horrendously dirty hallway. Jean’s shirt has been torn to shreds, the little pieces scattered around Connie. Jean groans in frustration and knees Connie squarely in the crotch.

“Ow, ow, ow, ohhh god Jean, it was joke, I swear it wasn’t personal, oww,” the shirt stealer groans, rolling around in agony. 

Jean ignores him in favor of glancing at Ymir, who is still frozen on the spot, staring at Jean like he’s some kind of mythical creature. (He might be, for all Ymir knows. No human should be allowed to have abs like that. No one.)

“What’s up with the bugged out eyes?”

“I. Uh.”

He looks surprised, and it’s reasonable for him to be, because Ymir is speechless. Ymir is never speechless. 

“Wow. I just saw your. Uhh. And I was like. Wow,” she splutters. 

“… Ymir, you okay? My what?”

“Ohmygodabs,” Ymir squeaks and scurries down the hallway, away from Connie, away from Jean, and away from his godly abs. 

Jean turns to Connie (who has curled into a ball and is currently pray to every god and deity to strike down Jean with a fucking storm) in confusion. “What did Ymir say?”

“Oh my god, dude, she likes your abs, or whatever. Let me die in peace, you bastard.”

Connie stops groaning for a moment to observe the familiar pink blush that settles on Jean’s face, but this time also noticing the sweep of his thick, dark eyelashes when he blinks, his thin lips curving into a little smile, tiny but so completely genuine – 

Suddenly Jean is looking at him weirdly, all traces of bashful modesty gone. Connie realizes he must have been staring for a bit too long.

It must be the kick in the nuts, Connie thinks faintly to himself as he goes back to rolling around in pain. The kick in the nuts must be giving him weird thoughts. 

Connie vows to never steal Jean’s clothes again. 

\--- 

If Jean finds it weird that both Connie and Ymir have been avoiding him like the plague, he doesn’t bring it up. Everyone else is kind of confused, though. After a day of frantically smacking Titan Labels on every inch of Eren’s titan form, they flood into the 104th’s makeshift lounge-thing to see Connie and Ymir on the total opposite side of the room as Jean, looking as though they’ve seen the devil himself.

“Maybe I did see the devil,” Connie jokes weakly, “I mean, Jean is pretty. I mean, ugly. Jean is pretty ugly. Haha.” (He makes awkward eye contact with Ymir for a second, and they both look away hurriedly.) 

\---

Sasha tries really, really hard to not shovel down food at every meal. She likes to think that she actually eats a pretty regular amount, on a whole.

However, if she’s hungry, she won’t hesitate to sneak in a couple extra snacks during the week. She reasons with herself that every soldier should be in tiptop shape at all times, just in case something unexpected, like an unplanned expedition or a surprise visit from the Colossal Titan, pops up. Sasha’s tiptop shape requires lots of food. 

This is why it’s not uncommon to see her following the promising scent of food to the kitchen, especially after a hard day of training. 

The usual scent that wafts out of the kitchen is that of fresh baked bread, or some sort of delicious stew for dinner. 

Today, however, the stew does not smell delicious at all. 

It actually smells more like the crushed hopes and dreams of a small child, as Mina had put it. God bless that girl. 

It turns out that the one of the cooks is sick, and their substitute had kept the stew over the fire for too long. The bottom of the pot had burned, resulting in the whole stew becoming extremely bitter, even after adding in handfuls of different spices. 

Unfortunately, that was also the last of their weekly stock of stew ingredients, so they had reluctantly dished out the awful stew to the trainees. 

Mina declares, after one tentative slurp from her spoon, that not only does it smell like the crushed hopes and dreams of a small child, it tastes like it as well. Sasha wholeheartedly agrees, and allows a tear to roll down her face and into the strange goop of a stew. 

The other trainees have a similar reaction, most of them pushing their bowls away from them, surrendering to a long night of empty stomachs. Eren, on the other hand, forces down the whole thing. Everyone gapes at him. 

“What?” Eren asks. “It tastes like death, but at least I won’t be hungry later.”

From across the table, Jean mutters that he is somewhat impressed but equally as repulsed. Eren winks at him. Jean buries his head in his hands and groans. 

He suddenly stands up from the table, looking determined. 

“You know what? Fuck this. I’m going to go find something actually edible to eat.”

He stomps out of the dinner hall, grumbling to himself about incompetent cooks and too much spice as he goes. No one moves to follow him, except Sasha, who cares about both her taste buds and her stomach. Whatever Jean finds must be better than this, she thinks as she scampers after him. 

\---

Jean’s idea of a good dinner actually involves him cooking, which surprises Sasha. He seemed more like a crackers-and-cheese-for-every-meal kind of guy, but hey, she’s not complaining. 

The kitchens are thankfully empty, as all of the cooks have rushed to the night market to find ingredients for tomorrow’s meal plan (and hopefully a less shitty stew). It doesn’t leave many options for Jean, recipes wise, but he seems at ease as he digs around in the fridge. 

Sasha hops up onto one of the counters, opting to watch Jean work instead of helping. He doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seems to be enjoying the whole cooking thing. He chops the vegetables slowly but quite neatly, Sasha notes. She wonders who taught him. 

It’s only when Jean is adding the chopped vegetables into the pan when she realizes that she has completely zoned out on whatever he’s been saying. He’s been chattering on nonstop, his words quiet but definitely directed at her. 

“I was just like wow, Eren, we know that you’re strong and powerful or whatever, but is it really necessary for you to chug that disgusting mess? I bet he thinks he’s like, attractive or something, being able to swallow all of that stew. I’d rather keep my tongue and stomach intact, y’know, instead of charming a couple people. I doubt anyone actually found that appealing –“

He keeps complaining as he slides his creation onto a plate, handing it to Sasha, before turning around and making another for himself. 

Sasha stares at her plate. 

There is an omelet staring back at her. It’s perfectly folded, stuffed almost to bursting, and god does it smell amazing. She takes at forkful, mouth watering, and tentatively nibbles at it. 

The taste of sinfully perfect fried eggs spreads over her tongue, and the vegetables are the cherry on top, adding texture and just the right amount of flavor. 

Fuck. 

The fork and plate clatter onto the counter as she grabs Jean by the shoulders. He lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched squeak, whirling around to face her. “Oh my god, Sasha, you scared the crap out of me -”

Sasha kisses him square on the nose, making him yelp in surprise. “Jean, you perfect, angelic soul,” she shrieks, picking the plate back up again and stuffing another bite into her mouth, “you are the only faith I have in humanity, oh yes, yes you are, this is amazing, I would marry you if I was not already mad in love with this gorgeous, magical omelet.” Then she’s gone, sprinting out the door with her plate in hand, to sing to the heavens about her delicious dinner. 

Jean is left in the kitchen, completely dumbfounded and blushing bright red. Then he gets a telltale whiff of burning omelet, and scrambles back to the stove to save his dinner. 

(At breakfast the next day, Sasha apologizes, nervously and way too loudly, for kissing Jean, blaming it on her food-induced adrenaline high. Naturally, the entire 104th hears her apology, and it is totally embarrassing but most definitely worth it, because Jean is pretty sure Eren’s shocked face is absolute funniest thing he has ever seen.) 

\---

Annie likes to pretend that she doesn’t really notice the other trainees.

She doesn’t stop in the middle of training to gape at Mikasa when the latter pulls of a terribly complicated maneuver, nor does she voice her admiration of Krista’s generosity and selflessness. She is quiet and distant, compared her comrades. 

She tries to convince herself that she does it because it will hurt less when she eventually watches them fall on the battlefield.

The little voice in the back of her head tells her that it’s because she doesn’t know how to reach out to people, to tell them that’s she’s hurting.

Annie usually tells that voice to shut the fuck up. It works sometimes. 

Today, however, it isn’t working. She’s curled up against the fence behind the mess hall, everyone else already inside and eating dinner. It’s cold and bleak outside, but at least it’s quiet. It’s a good place wallow in a bit of self-hatred, she figures. 

She shudders and hugs her knees closer to her chest. She hates this, this feeling of helplessness, like she’s drowning herself but also fighting the strong and wild current. The emptiness in her chest tears her apart, searching for some kind of comfort, turning up empty handed. 

She wants to go home. 

The sound of footsteps startles her, and she sits straight up, shoulder tense as she hurriedly wipes away the tear tracks on her face. She’s somewhat surprised to see Jean standing there, bundled up in his thick green trench coat. The moonlight turns the tips of his hair into silver, but hides his face in shadow. 

“Why are you out here, alone? It’s pretty cold, Annie. Don’t catch a cold, or Shadis will be furious,” he sniffs haughtily. He lectures her for a bit longer, putting emphasis on the you’re going to get sick‘s and the we’ve got training tomorrow, dumbo‘s. 

Annie hums agreeably, not really listening to his long-winded rant. Jean seems to take that as an agreement to haul ass into the mess hall as soon as possible, as he gives her a nod of approval. 

He makes to leave, but not before noticing her red nose and puffy eyes. His eyes widen when it hits him that she’s been crying. 

“Oh,” he stammers out. 

He shuffles his feet a bit, seeming to have dropped the arrogant facade. He’s probably not at ease or used to comforting people, Annie notes. He looks as if he’s having some kind of inner conflict, as his eyes flit around, looking everywhere except her.

After a couple seconds of total stillness, he makes up his mind, and plops down next to Annie, mimicking her position.

Annie looks at him with indifference, still looking rather terrifying despite just having bawled her eyes out a couple minutes ago. Jean licks his lips nervously, an old habit resurfacing. 

“I don’t mean to be nosy, but is it home sickness?”

Annie looks up quickly. Jean takes it as an aggressive sign, and hurriedly backs up.

“I didn’t mean to pry, really, it’s okay. I can just, uh, leave you then, if you want –“

“No, no, it’s fine. It’s… Well, I guess you could call it homesickness.”

“Ah.”

“…”

They sit there, totally quiet. The silence isn’t awkward, but it’s not entirely comfortable either. It’s kind of weird, because even though they hardly know each other, neither of them feel the need to keep up their normal acts of arrogance and distance. 

It’s nice, Annie decides, glancing over at Jean. 

“I get it too, sometimes. The homesickness. Not very often at all, but I think I understand what you’re feeling.”

He really doesn’t, she thinks somewhat amusedly to herself. It’s kind of him to try and comfort her, though, even if he’s really shit at it. She gives him a tiny smile, which he must have taken as encouragement, because he keeps going.

“My mom is a bit of a pushover. She’s kind of nosy, always on me like a hawk. She was always a bit too overprotective, in my opinion. But she always spoiled me. Made me my favorite foods, brought back little gifts from the markets. I never thanked her, actually. But damn, once in a blue moon I miss her like hell.” 

He looks over at her, looking embarrassed for spilling all of that out. Annie looks at him thoughtfully. 

“Don’t be embarrassed. I get it. I never really appreciated my dad either.”

That’s definitely much information for her to be giving out for one day, Annie thinks to herself. It’s probably time for her to leave, before she says anything else. 

It’s awfully tempting to just blurt out everything that’s been weighing her down, though. This is first time she’s ever talked to someone about anything remotely personal, and it feels amazing. Oh god, she really is turning into emotional goop, isn’t she? 

She stands up abruptly, startling Jean a bit. She extends a hand to him, offering to help him up. He takes it, grinning sheepishly at her. 

“See you around?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow at training.”

Annie turns to leave, but freezes when she feels his hand on her shoulder.

“Thanks, by the way, for listening. I hope you feel better, yeah?”

“Thanks, Jean.”

Bertholdt quietly observes that when Annie walks into the mess hall, she’s wearing a small smile. 

\---

The latest Team Hot Stuff prank had really fucked up. 

Well, it could be worse, Marco speculated, because even though they got caught sneaking around the barracks with a giant tub of blue dye, and Eren had accidentally busted his foot into a huge titan one and managed to spill the whole tub of dye onto the floor, and everyone around them had definitely noticed and asked why their feet were suddenly blue, at least Connie isn’t around to witness this.

Because that would just be embarrassing. 

The prank was supposed to be a repeat of The Great Horse Incident, because Eren had noticed that Jeremy’s obnoxiously pink hair was slowly fading, and that a pissed off Connie is actually really funny to watch. So they had planned to do it again, just for laughs.

Unfortunately, they may or may not have gotten a bit too relaxed with the whole stealth thing, because here they are now, standing in the middle of the hallway, blue dye running everywhere and more than a few heads turned in their direction. 

Marco would definitely just bolt out of there if he could, but Eren is still in shock, staring at his blaringly red and sizzling titan leg, and it doesn’t look like he’s going to snap out of it anytime soon. So Marco stands there with him, because, as a loyal teammate, he isn’t going to ditch the other half of Team Hot Stuff. 

But he really, really wants to. 

“Come on, Eren,” he whispers nervously, eying the people around them, “you can snap out of it anytime now, okay, I don’t mean to hurry you or anything but – “

A crash sounds from somewhere further down the hallway, and Corporal Levi emerges, a murderous look on his face. 

“Shit, shit, shit, Eren, I definitely mean to hurry you now, so just snap out of it, yeah? If I die, tell Berthodlt that it was me who ate half of his sandwich that one time, but I swear I thought it was mine, because seriously I would never steal his food, man, I’m a better person than that –“

“Bodt, and the brat,” Levi snarls, stomping over to them. “What the ever living fuck hit you in the head when you were fresh out of the fucking womb, because there is blue all over my fucking carpet and it will not. Come. Out.”

Marco almost shits his pants, if he’s going to be honest. He’s not even going to die properly, in the hungry jaws of a titan, is he? He’s probably just going to drop dead right here, right now, before Levi throttles him to death.

This is it, he thinks to himself, closing his eyes and embracing the sweet smell of death – 

“Corporal, sir! I will offer my service to help you find a solution to clean your carpet, sir! I am sure that Marco and Eren will stop being idiots and help you too, sir!” Jean squeaks, stepping in front Marco and offering up his heart. 

Marco cracks an eye open.

Corporal Levi still looks unimpressed, but there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes. 

“Alright, I’ll let it slide this once. But get ready to offer up your heart to my carpet, because you three are going to scrub out everyone single spot of blue, or die trying.”

Marco would kiss Jean, right now, he really would. 

It’s Jean’s lucky day, though, because just as Marco sidles up to him with the intent to smack a wet one on his cheek, he suddenly feels rather dizzy, and passes out soon after. 

(When he wakes up, Connie is standing over him, clutching an empty tub that is stained with what looks like vegetable juice. He looks down at himself. 

He’s dripping with green dye. 

Shit.)

\---

Surprisingly, it’s Armin that voices the thought that has been haunting a majority of his comrades. He brings it up over an ordinary late night dinner in the mess hall. Everyone had gone through a long day, and so, for the most part, they’re all pretty quiet as they shovel food into their mouths. A quiet conversation is exchanged here and there, but everyone is comfortable eating in silence. 

Armin doesn’t want to disturb the peacefulness of his comrades, but this observation is one he’s been eager to share for a while. 

“Jean is actually quite attractive, if you think about it,” he says thoughtfully, over a plate of mashed potatoes. 

Eren almost spits his food out. Jean actually spits his food out. 

“What?” Eren chokes out, eyes slightly bugged out as Mikasa claps him on the back. Hard. 

Everyone at the table swivels around to stare at Armin. It’s a bit unnerving, actually, how alert and attentive they are, all of a sudden. Jean squirms uncomfortably. 

“Well,” Armin enunciates slowly, squinting at Jean a little, “symmetrical faces are perceived as attractive, and Jean. He’s got a pretty symmetrical face, I would say. His body,” here, he flaps his hand in Jean’s direction, “has got the ideal proportions, y’know? Broad shoulders, narrow waist, toned legs, that kind of stuff. Honesty and selflessness also are up there on the optimal male characteristics list, I think.”

The whole table falls silent, as they all stare at Jean. Jean stares back at them, eyebrows raised in disbelief, cheeks tinted pink and ears practically glowing red. 

“I guess I could see it, maybe,” Eren mutters, ears turning a bit red as well. 

Later on, everyone who was sitting at that table swears up and down that Jean’s sheepish, but terrifically bright smile had temporarily blinded them all. 

\---

After the whole carpet-and-blue-dye fiasco, Connie had been positive that the prank war was over for good. It was hilarious to take part of, but after Marco’s near-death experience, the little game had turned into a touchy subject for everyone. 

Or so Connie thought, because this – this was probably the most genius prank of them all. Maybe even better than Team Connie’s Underwear Plot, if he’s feeling generous. 

The whole cohort is sprawled out on the field; everyone dressed in as little clothes as possible (the most extreme case being Thomas, who is lounging around in a pair of ratty boxers). All of them dead tired after an awful day of Shadis screaming bloody murder at all of them and pushing them to run faster, goddammit, we haven’t gotten this far to sit on our asses and cry about a sore muscle or two.

Everyone is pretty set on not moving until the very last second, but when Eren stands up, a couple people muster up the energy to shift around a bit to glance up at him. 

“Jean,” he barks over the field, to where Jean is flopped on the ground, “you are the most insufferable, idiotic, unreasonably attractive, and ridiculously level headed bastard I have every had the misfortune to meet.” 

Jean looks mildly pleased. “I know, dickhead. What’s new?”

Eren rolls his eyes. “Go out with me, asshole.”

Wait. What?

The whole field goes dead silent, everyone in various states of shock. Then Connie loses it. 

“OH MY GOD, THAT IS THE FUNNIEST – PFFFT EREN, HOLY CRAP, WOW. WOW. HAHA. HOW DID YOU COME UP WITH THIS, YOU – YOU GENIUS. YOU WIN. I FORFIT. YOU AND MARCO ARE JUST. WOW. HAHHAA.” 

Eren stares at Connie. “What?” 

Connie stares back. Then he blinks. “Oh god. You’re serious, aren’t you. This isn’t like, a prank, is it?”

Eren, that bastard, just grins and glances back over to where Jean is now sitting up, looking a bit pale. “I’m dead serious. Whaddya say, Kirschtein?” 

Jean cocks his head to the side, wearing a smirk to match Eren’s, apparently unaware or ignoring the dozens of pairs of eyes on him. 

“You’re on, Jaeger.” 

(If anyone catches their comrades staring at Jean wistfully from time to time, they silently sympathize.)

**Author's Note:**

> this is unbeta'd, so if there are any mistakes, forgiveness pls ;-;
> 
> thank you for forcing your way through this shithole of badly written Jean feels, please let me know what you think!!


End file.
